Daisy's Wars (18 page)

‘If it’s about my stockings, I swear I won’t—’

‘Daisy, it’s not about that, it’s much more serious, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, but last Friday there was a raid on Newcastle and your home was hit. I’m
sorry,’ the officer repeated, playing for time rather than saying what she had to say. Then she paused for a moment and cursed herself mentally. The girl, the poor girl, had to be told.
‘I’m afraid everyone is accounted for, your mother, father, your sister and her children, and there are no survivors. It’s a blessing that your sister’s husband wasn’t
in the house, as he’s currently abroad on active service,’ she said quietly.

Daisy stared at her as though she was speaking in a foreign language. She hadn’t anticipated this – how could she when she knew for a fact that it always happened to someone
else?

‘It’s taken this time to be sure they’ve got everyone, and, of course, they had to be buried quickly, you understand … Then they couldn’t find you and neighbours
said you were in the Forces.’ Gwen talked on, giving Daisy time. ‘They pointed the way to your last employer and that’s how you were traced here. There were letters in the office
of a Mrs Joan Johnstone, I believe,’ she said, looking at the papers on her desk for confirmation.

Daisy nodded, staring into space. There was a curiously detached feeling in her head, as though she was floating on the ceiling, right there in the corner, and watching and listening to what was
going on. As though she were eavesdropping on a conversation that didn’t concern her.

‘As it turned out, Mrs Johnstone’s body was found near your home too,’ the officer continued, more to fill the silence than supply details, and because she couldn’t think
of anything else to do. ‘Apparently she has a sister who lives in the same street, so presumably that was why she was in the area. The sister’s home was untouched, so if she’d
reached it she would’ve been safe. Just one of those things, I suppose, a few minutes in either direction makes the difference.’

Daisy nodded again and tried to speak, but her throat was dry. The officer handed her a glass of water and she took a sip. ‘When did it happen?’ she asked.

‘Friday evening, after nine p.m.’

Daisy didn’t reply, but she knew Joan hadn’t been visiting her sister. On Friday evenings after work she went to see Kathleen with Daisy’s latest letter. What had she written
about? Oh, yes, the girls having a bath, a little tale to amuse Kathleen. She smiled, remembering how all the girls had laughed when they’d heard the story first-hand from a new arrival, and
she’d made a mental note to include it in her next – now her last – letter home. Somehow it became of crucial importance to remember the exact story at that moment. How had it
gone again?

In the WAAF in question’s previous posting she had been one of four girls billeted in a former boys’ school, where they had been told there were plenty of baths.

‘We set off in search of this luxury,’ the girl had explained, ‘and found a dozen baths lined around three sides of this enormous room. Myrtle, Sheila, Ethel and I kind of
laughed, a bit embarrassed, then we thought, “What the hell? There’s a war on, y’know, this is no time for modesty!” We stripped off and found there was nowhere to hang our
clothes, so we put them in the middle of the room and ran these beautiful deep, warm baths, absolute heaven. We were lying there singing and telling jokes till we couldn’t stay in any longer,
then we pulled the plugs and got out. And that,’ she sighed, ‘was when we realised the baths didn’t have individual plumbing, and we watched aghast as the water ran to a central
drain in the middle of the room.’

The other girls were by now giggling.

‘That’s right,’ she said wryly, sipping her tea thoughtfully, ‘to where we had left our clothes.’

That was what Joan had read to Kathleen last Friday as the German bombers were on their way. She must have left for home just before the blackout, then the explosion had struck. All of them
gone, her entire family, even Joan who had done so much for her.

Daisy cast her mind back, picturing Joan jumping up and down on the station platform on that day a lifetime ago, in tears but blowing wild kisses and waving frantically. It was hard to take in,
impossible really, the words playing in her mind over and over: ‘All of them gone.’ The only survivor, by ‘a blessing’, was Dessie, so there was no justice in the world
after all, just as she’d always suspected. She shook her head slightly and the officer got up and called for tea to be brought in.

‘Daisy, I’m so sorry,’ she said helplessly. ‘I wish there was something I could do. You’ll get compassionate leave, of course, I’ll arrange that, we’ll
talk about it over tea.’

Daisy hadn’t said anything, but her mind had been busy. If they were all dead and buried and the house had been flattened, what was there to return for or to? A cup of tea was placed in
her hands and she sipped it slowly, tasting only the extra sugar that everyone said was good for shock. Why was sugar good for shock? she thought. She must remember to ask someone one of these
days.

‘Does anyone else know about this?’ she asked eventually.

‘The CO,’ Gwen replied.

‘Well, could we please keep it between us?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I’d rather no one else knew.’

‘But Daisy, you’ll get support from the other girls, you know that.’

‘Yes, I know, but I’d find it easier to deal with on my own; the last thing I need is a lot of sympathy.’ She looked at the officer. ‘I’m not explaining this very
well, but it’s just that I feel that it could have me on my knees if everyone crowded round to comfort me. The best thing I can think of doing is carrying on as normal.’ In her mind she
chided herself. ‘On my knees’ indeed, so much for not using RAF slang. She took another sip of her tea.

‘But Daisy,’ Gwen Thomas said quietly, ‘they’ll know when you go on leave …’

Daisy shook her head. ‘What’s the point of leave?’ she asked. ‘They’re gone, there’s no one to see, and the house is gone, too. Why would I go all the way up
there to look at … well, nothing?’

Gwen nodded. ‘But you must have other family?’ she suggested.

‘Oh, cousins, I suppose.’

‘And you don’t think it might make all of this easier if you were to spend some time with them?’

Daisy shook her head. ‘Haven’t seen them in years,’ she murmured. ‘I could pass them in the street and not recognise them. They live in another world, there are people
here I’m closer to.’

‘I understand what you’re saying,’ said the officer, ‘but perhaps it would help you to accept it if you saw it?’

‘No, I don’t have any trouble accepting it,’ Daisy replied quietly. ‘It’s happening all over, not just to me. There’s nothing to go back to Newcastle for,
ever again. I’m still on duty—’

‘No, no, we’ll get someone to cover for you.’

‘Then they would know something was wrong,’ Daisy said logically. ‘The best thing for me is to get on with my work.’

‘Do you think you’re up to it?’ the officer asked kindly.

‘Yes, I’ll be fine, honestly, I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true. If I can just sit for a minute or two to get my mind straight? And you don’t have to talk to
me,’ she said, ‘I’m really OK.’

The two women sat in silence, the only sounds the clinking of their cups and saucers, accompanied by little gulps as they swallowed their tea. After ten minutes Daisy replaced her cup on the
desk, stood up, smoothed a hand over her skirt and took a deep breath.

‘Thank you for being so kind,’ she smiled tightly.

‘Daisy, you’re sure?’

Daisy’s head dipped in a firm little nod.

‘If you change your mind …’

‘I won’t,’ Daisy said, ‘but thanks.’

She saluted and left, and as she closed the office door behind her there was an echo as another closed in her mind. Then she went back to the hut where Dotty was waiting for news.

‘Another ticking off?’ she asked, arching her eyebrows.

Daisy nodded. ‘The risks we take to wear silk stockings,’ she said, bending to remove the detested lisle ones. ‘Still, it was only a slap across the wrist, it could’ve
been much worse.’

The next day, news of their postings arrived. Daisy and Dotty would report to RAF Langar, nine miles south-east of Nottingham, where Edith had already joined Violet and Celia.
Life would be different now that her entire family and Joan had gone, but she had her friends, all of whom she had met since leaving Newcastle and her old life behind. It would be an entirely fresh
start where she could become whoever she wanted to be, because now there was no one alive who knew the old Daisy Sheridan. No one, that was, apart from the ‘blessedly’ alive Dessie, but
Daisy closed another door on that thought.

11

A Utility – a van – took Daisy and Dotty on the long journey from London to Langar. The base was set among fields just showing their springtime foliage, though the
houses near the airfield, like the Langar buildings, were painted in green and brown camouflage colours. This was a different world from West Drayton, where they had been aware of airmen but
didn’t really mix with them much. This was an operational station, so as the van took them into the airfield they tried hard to behave like seasoned service personnel who weren’t
impressed by the sight of aircrew and planes, even though they were.

At the WAAFery they got out, collected their belongings and calmly booked in, before heading to the dining room for a meal of cheese-on-toast, bread, butter, jam and tea, a marked difference
from their breakfast of ‘dry rations’. From there they made their way to the bedding store to collect blankets and sheets, then to their hut, where they found they were sharing a
room.

Daisy immediately thought of Gwen Thomas and smiled. Her former officer at West Drayton must have arranged that Daisy would be with her friend, and she had also been as good as her word. Nothing
had slipped out before they left the camp about the raid on Newcastle. Now Daisy had a fresh start with a new job in a new place, with different people as well as old friends. She and Dotty were
both tired from their journey, so before tracking down Violet and Celia they made up their beds and slipped between the rough sheets, the background noises lulling them to sleep.

Footsteps on the highly polished lino; someone drawing the dark blue blackout curtains; two girls talking as they polished shoes and uniform buttons; more sitting on a bed laughing at something;
another writing a letter and someone singing in the distance. As Daisy drifted off into that first stage of slumber where nothing makes sense, in her head she converted the tune the girl was
singing to ‘I’ll Take You Home Again Kathleen’, and turned her face into her straw-filled pillow. Sometime later she wakened with a start to a deafening noise and a girl looked at
her and laughed. ‘It’s only the planes,’ the girl said. ‘Ops tonight. We always cheer the boys as they take off, but you stay where you are tonight.’ Later Daisy
dreamed of thunder as the planes returned from their missions. There were so many sections to inform of their arrival in the days that followed, but luckily Violet and Celia found them first and
were there to help, having descended with screams and hugs as soon as they heard of their arrival. Edith, they told them, was on leave. There was the Pay Accounts, the Gas Section, the Orderly
Room, and everywhere they went they had to collect the correct number of signatures from the officers or NCOs in charge. Finally they parted and made their ways to the guardroom, where Dotty was
sent off to the Medical Unit, while Daisy was taken to the Orderly Room and handed a pile of train timetables to study, as they thought she was a Railway Transport Officer. When she pointed out
that she was, in fact, a Radio Telephone Operator, she was looked at with complete confusion. She realised that not only did no one there know what that meant, but they hadn’t been expecting
her either, regardless of what she did. ‘Sounds kind of Signalish,’ a voice said. ‘Send for a Signals Officer.’

When the Signals Officer arrived he pointed Daisy in the direction of the Watch Room, a square, two-storey box-like building in front of the aircraft hangars. After climbing the concrete stairs
she approached the Squadron Leader in charge, saluted and explained who she was and why she was there. He was a good-looking, dark-haired man, in his early forties, she thought, watching him walk
up and down, look at her, say ‘Hum’ rather a lot, look at her again and walk up and down once more. His face was contorted with concentration and he was biting on the knuckle of his
first finger. Suddenly he stopped, threw his arms into the air and beamed at her.

‘I know what!’ he said with deep happiness. ‘How would you like a few days’ leave?’

‘Sir?’ Daisy replied.

‘I’m sure you could do with it,’ he continued. ‘Get out in the sun, take long walks, that sort of thing, eh?’

Daisy didn’t know what to say, so she continued to look at him.

‘Yes, yes, that’s the thing,’ he said cheerfully, returning to his seat. ‘You take a few days off. The thing is, I haven’t the slightest idea who you are, why
you’ve been sent to me or what to do with you. It’ll all be clear when you get back. Have a good time, then!’

Daisy stood in silence for a few seconds, gradually taking in, by the fact that he had closed the conversation and turned away from her, that she had been dismissed. So she made her way down the
stairs again and went back to the guardroom.

There she found Dotty.

‘I’ve been told no one knows anything about me,’ Dotty said in an offended voice.

‘Snap,’ Daisy replied.

‘I’ve been told to go on leave till it’s sorted out.’

‘Me too. I’ve to get some sun and go on a long walk, apparently,’ Daisy smiled.

‘It’s a bit rum, don’t you think?’ Dotty asked, still offended.

‘So you’re going to turn down a spot of leave, are you?’

‘Not likely!’ Dotty grinned. ‘Where are you going? Home?’

‘No,’ Daisy said casually. ‘My family’s away.’

‘Why not come home with me to Rose Cottage then, that’s our farm in Gloucestershire?’ Dotty asked. ‘There’s loads to do and Mar and Par love having people to
stay.’